


The Gift

by spelledink



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Love Confessions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spelledink/pseuds/spelledink
Summary: Andy arrives at Miranda's townhouse on Christmas Eve, with the Book. She hears a lonely Miranda's despair, and acts. Revealing a priceless gift for the editor.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 19
Kudos: 192





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little bit of romantic holiday fluff, starring Miranda and Andy. 
> 
> Sorry I couldn't post it earlier. I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> Here's wishing all of you in the DWP fandom a very merry holiday season, and a new year filled with light and love.

**_The Gift_** ****

**_A Devil Wears Prada fanfiction._** ****

**_This story is a nonprofit work of fanfiction._** ****

**_The Devil Wears Prada is the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox._ **

Andy Sachs walked down the sidewalk of East 73rd Street. It was a quiet December night. Christmas Eve. Snow fell from the low clouds above. Gentle flurries, sticking to the concrete beneath her feet. She looked up at her destination, the white façade of the Priestly townhouse ahead. She mounted the steps, fishing the brass key from her pocket. Inserting it into the black steel door before her. The lock clicked open.

Andy opened the door, cradling the Book in one arm. Shutting the door behind her, she reset the alarm, and placed the Book onto the table beside the hall closet. She paused a moment, catching sight of herself in the hallway mirror. Tall, auburn hair windswept. Clad in a plum Michael Kors draped-sleeve sheath dress. A woolen coat, unbuttoned, surmounting it.

Music drifted down from the study upstairs. Dianne Reeves singing “Christmas Time is Here”. Andy bit her lower lip, unease and want warring within her. She glanced at the hallway clock. It was late, almost midnight. The house was dark, empty. A single shaft of light coming from the top of the stairs.

_She’s here, alone._

Cassidy and Caroline were away. Spending the evening with their father, at his home in Connecticut. After Miranda’s divorce, they’d become distant from her. Spending more time away. Even on the holidays. The brunette grimaced, knowing how that must hurt the older woman. Realizing that her daughters, her treasured ones, did not want her near.

Andy could sympathize with that pain. She’d felt it, too. Being abandoned. By her friends, by her family. For changing from the young girl she’d been, so many years ago. For discovering who she was, who she wanted.

_Who she loved._

Her coming out had been a brutal thing. The anger, the sudden disgust in her parent’s eyes. The heated words, demanding she come home. Give up New York. Give up her dream. As though she were no more than a possession, one they felt embarrassed by. Like she was sick, defective. Something they had to fix.

Of course, they blamed Runway. Blamed Miranda. Used Andy’s own words and fears against her, from two years ago. When she’d acted like such a fool, such a child. Acting as though she was better than her assistant’s job. As though fetching coffee and running errands were beneath her. Not typical parts of an entry-level position.

_Did I really think the New Yorker would hire a kid right out of college to write?_

She’d survived her baptism of fire. And had her eyes opened. To the reality of what it was to be a woman working in publishing. The strength, the fire, the determination it took. All personified in the form of Runway’s Editor-in-Chief. The brilliant, infuriating, beautiful woman who’d changed her world, in so many ways.

_The woman she loved._

How that had terrified her. The thought that she lay so exposed, so vulnerable, before Miranda. It made her want to run. She almost had. In the Place de la Concorde, in Paris. The phone clenched, tight, in her hand. Her fist shaking. She’d almost thrown it away.

_And Miranda, too._

But she couldn’t. She’d turned, and run back, tears in her eyes. Babbling some nonsense about a sick friend. And Miranda had accepted it. Accepted her. So, she stayed. Becoming first assistant at Emily's promotion. Never letting on how she felt about the editor. How each stolen glance, each brush of fingertips, made her heart leap with joy. Then crash in despair.

_Because she could never, never tell._

How she longed to let Miranda know. Open her heart to the older woman and tell her: _“You’re not alone. Never alone. I’m here for you. Always for you. Only you.”_ But she couldn’t. Because rejection would destroy her. She’d rather bask in Miranda’s light, a silent moon around her distant sun, than lose her altogether.

Andy bowed her head, her throat tight. A haze of tears coming to her eyes. She turned up the collar of her grey Dolce and Gabbana overcoat, adjusting the scarf around her neck. Preparing to leave. A sound came from above, like something falling. Crashing to the floor. A heavy thud, then silence. The music halted. A quiet voice replaced it, murmuring. The cadence familiar. Its tone low, dark with grief.

“I’ll never be enough,” it said.

_Miranda._

Andy shook her head. “No,” she whispered. Her tears falling now. Something bursting in her heart, a clarion to action, long since due. She stripped off her coat, pulling the scarf from her throat. Laying them down, upon a nearby armchair. Taking the Louboutin pumps from her feet.

Andy climbed the stairs. Following the path of light, up, and down the hallway. A door stood ajar before her. The entrance to Miranda’s study. The source of the light. Andy paused in the doorway, peering inside. Her eyes falling upon the editor. Sitting upon a long, white couch. In a grey silk robe, that clung to her form. Her eyes vacant, lost.

Andy stepped forward, into the room. A clock on a nearby bookcase chimed midnight. “Merry Christmas, Miranda,” she said, her voice soft. The editor looked up, startled. Cheeks flushing pink, embarrassed. “Andréa,” she murmured. “Why are you...?”

The brunette gave a watery smile, crossing to her. Sinking to her knees before the older woman. “You’ll always be enough, to those who love you,” she whispered. She reached out, taking the older woman’s hand in hers. “Like I do.”

Miranda’s eyes grew wide. Startled by Andrea’s words. The bravery of her doe-eyed assistant. The woman she’d hid from, behind her dragon’s mask.

The editor stared at the younger woman, incredulous. Her voice hoarse, rough with deep emotion. “You do?” she asked. Andy nodded. “That’s why I couldn’t leave you, here like this,” she said. “Or in Paris.” Miranda’s eyes sharpened. “Paris,” she murmured, bitterness creeping into her voice. “I wondered why you came back. Why you didn’t leave. I was sure you would, like all the rest.”

Andy bowed her head, leaning against the other woman’s knees. “I couldn’t. No more than I could leave my own heart,” she said. Her voice fell, a tender whisper. “Because everywhere you are is where it dwells.”

Slim fingers reached out, threading through the brunette’s hair. “Look at me, Andréa,” Miranda said. “Look at me, please.” Brown eyes rose, locking with cobalt. Hope and fear within their depths. “You love me?” the editor asked, her voice fragile. Andy nodded. She brought one hand to her breast. Her eyes open, full of feeling. “Yes, with every beat of this heart,” she said. “The only gift that I possess that’s yours.”

Miranda stared at the brunette. Breathless, stunned into silence. Her thoughts awhirl. Full of the woman who knelt before her; open, trusting, full of care. The one she’d come to adore. Her feelings secret. Silent. Never to be told, lest Andréa leave.

“A gift,” she said, her voice rising. “And what would you have, in return?” A hopeful smile crossed Andy’s face. A shy blush painting her cheeks. “You,” she said. “Just you.” A gentle chuckle fell from her lips. “ _That’s all_.”

Miranda leaned forward, a rosy flush rising to porcelain skin. Cobalt eyes darkening as she paused. Closing the distance, taking Andy’s lips with her own. So soft, trembling upon them. Fingers combing through her assistant’s dark mane. A moan falling from her lips as Andy responded. Mouth open, inviting her tongue’s entrance.

They stayed there a moment, locked together. Lost in the sweet caress. Unwilling to part. Miranda pulled away from the kiss. Regret at its end shining in her eyes. A tiny smile grew on her face.

“I love you,” she said. “I don’t know when I knew, or how. What it was that made it clear. But I do.” Her smile grew brighter. “And I want this. Want you. Want **_us_** , if you’ll let me try.” Andy brushed a kiss to the editor’s lips, her face a beacon of joy. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, please, Miranda.”

The editor rose, taking the brunette’s hands. Helping her to her feet. Blue eyes warm, earnest, as she spoke. “Stay with me, sleep with me,” she said. “Let me hold you, just hold you. And know this isn’t a dream.” Andy nodded. “It’s not,” she said. “This is real. This is me, here. Loving you. As long as you’ll love me.”

Miranda’s fingers tangled with Andy’s. She gazed at the younger woman. Her face bright with devotion. “That’s all I want,” she said. “To love you, and have yours back. Never fading, never ending. Ever new, ever green. Always.”

She looked at the brunette. A smile upon her face. Bashful, full of longing. She led Andy to the door, towards the staircase that lay beyond it. A short journey to complete. Up, ten steps, to the master suite. To the warmth of shared blankets, and sheltering arms. Of soft words, and sweet kisses. And dreams of a future, brighter than Christmas.


End file.
